Pasta Man watches me drink some water and then crumples up his face at me, pulling his face back into his shaking head, saying “No, no, no, you gotta chew the chardonnay like a dog, baby.” I say “Shit Pasta you’re right,” then I take another gulp and make sure to chew my water.

There are usually two people trapped inside one sad body: someone who wants to die and someone who wants to live. There are stress lines on a stranger’s face that go years and years down all the way to the bone.